


We should have talked more

by asterCrash



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cheating, Communication Failure, Explicit Consent, F/F, Polyamory, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterCrash/pseuds/asterCrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very recently Rose was talking earnestly about shoving her needles point first into your ganderbulbs for wanting to pail her wife. That was fifteen minutes ago, this is now. You’re in their bed. You’re naked. She’s naked. The second she is now getting naked. Fucking everyone’s naked and you know <i>exactly</i> what to do</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fucking how is this your life?

You don’t know what made today different out of the last eight sweeps but Kanaya Maryam actually gave in to your advances. You weren’t even that serious about it anymore, it was more like a running joke between you. You’d ask if she wants to fuck, she’d remind you that she and Rose are human-married and you’re in fact standing in their marital hive, you’d ask what her point was, everyone has a good laugh. What you weren’t prepared for was the way she didn’t remind you about her matesprit for the thousandth time when you came around this morning. What you weren’t prepared for was the way she fell into your arms, and the rush of pity that came back like a tidal wave ripping apart every callous display of detachment. What you weren’t prepared for was her lips on yours, kissing you back like it could save her.

That was fifteen minutes ago, this is now. You’re in her bed. You’re naked. She’s naked. Fucking everyone’s naked and you don’t know what to do. It’s not like you’ve never done this before, you’ve left a long line of extremely satisfied lovers behind you, but this is Kanaya. She deserves something special. Something you don’t know how to give. She deserves better than you. But you don’t got better than you on hand, and clearly if her matesprit was giving her better than you then you wouldn’t be in this position. So you give her the best you’ve got. You go gentle, you go slow. You touch her everywhere she needs to be touched and you make her feel like she’s everything in the world to you. And she might not be wrong about that. She’s Kanaya Maryam and you never thought you’d get hold her in your arms and feel the warmth of her underneath you. You’ve wanted her since you were seven sweeps old and for some unknowable reason she wants you back, after all this time she wants you and you can be together.

But nothing could ever be that easy for you, which is why the door bursts open to reveal one pissed off matesprit with brilliant white hair and a needle in each fist. She’s on you in a second, ripping the covers off to reveal you and Kanaya almost in the act. She makes to grab at you while you’re still trying to catch up to what the fuck is happening here and it’s only Kanaya yelling out in your defence that holds her back.

“Kanaya, dearest, _what the fuck_ do you mean ‘this was my idea’? Because I’m having a little trouble figuring out what exactly _Vriska fucking Serket_ is doing naked _with you_ in _our fucking bed_.”

“I’m sorry, Rose,” she blubbers out from the corner of the bed you’ve hastily abandoned in favour of as far a-fucking-way as you can get from the crazy human with the sharp implements to match her stabby mood “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“I know exactly what came over you, it’s called ‘your telepathic ex-moirail who never stops hitting on you used her goddamn mind control to get you in bed’, darling, now if you’ll stop interrupting I’m going to pulp her eyeballs and watch the universe congratulate me on how justified I am in killing her when she doesn’t get back up.”

She makes a move towards you before you throw up your hands “Now wait a damn second, Lalonde. I have not, nor will I ever use my god-given-gifts in the bedroom, not now, not ever. I don’t know what’s going on between you and her and I’ll fucking leave if that’s what you both want but when she told me ‘yes’ you better fucking believe it was of her own free will.”

She doesn’t break eye contact with you until Kanaya’s hand is pulling her arms down “Please, Rose, she is telling the truth. This was my idea, she did not have to persuade or manipulate me.”

“Well if it’s all consensual then who am I to complain?” Rose keeps up the banter but she’s pretty obviously had the wind taken out of her sails. Her hands fall to her sides and her needles slide back into their specibus. “Kanaya, what the hell happened to us?”

“Wait,” you interrupt, because you’re an asshole and if anyone’s going to be the bad guy here it’s you “are you telling me that this was just to mess with Lalonde? Fuck, even when you say you want my bulge I’m still not good enough for your oh-so-high standards.”

It works, because Rose’s anger is back and it’s focused at you, not Kanaya “Are you kidding me? She never stopped wanting you. Vriska this, Vriska that, Vriska fuck me please.”

“Bullshit. She’s known she could have me for the last eight sweeps and she’s turned me down every day of it for your pasty alien butt. I don’t know how the fuck you’re acting jealous if you’re the one who gets to sleep with her every damn day for the rest of your lives? That was the point of that stupid bonding ceremony right? ‘Let’s rub our gross pale-flushed relationship in Vriska’s face so she knows exactly what she’s never getting back.’”

“Fuck you, Vriska. Fuck. You. Do you know how hard it is to have your lover's one-who-got-away come around every month and rip open old wounds? Do you have any idea how much it hurts her to still want you after all this time? Do you even think about how impossible it is to live up to the ghost of Vriska fucking Serket when she. Just. Won't. DIE?”

You’re feeling all kinds of exposed right now. On the one hand being naked while a crazy alien is about to attack you is not great. What’s really shitty though is the lot of you have basically just thrown your emotional dirty laundry out into the air and are preparing to use it as a pile for the world’s shittiest feelings jam. And frankly, you have a moirail, and she’s pretty fucking great, so the solution to this drama isn’t going to come from the pale quadrant. So you do the thing you do the best. You be the huge bitch. 

* * *

 

Vriska’s lips are rough against yours, calloused after years of grinding against her own fangs.

“Why don’t you can it, Lalonde.”

You remember the exact moment you began to hate Vriska Serket. You remember in exquisite detail exactly what it felt like for the bottom to fall out of your stomach when your wife called out her name when you were between her legs. You remember the burn of shame, the flustered apologies, you remember the way the mood completely evaporated and the feeling of going to sleep angry. She’d always been an annoyance, but just an annoyance. Now she was an obstacle. Now she was getting in your way. And she didn’t even have the good sense to be present when she ruined your sex life.

It had been your suggestion, after the first incident, that Kanaya call you by her name when you were in bed. You said it was all very reasonable, that she should work out those feelings in a constructive setting. You did your honest best to enjoy it, to tolerate it. You bore through with it because you loved your wife and you wanted to make this work. In retrospect you’ve been a bit of a moron. It didn’t take long for frustration to turn to avoidance. You’d spend longer hours writing in seclusion. You’d tend to your own needs more often than ask her to join you. You’d turn her down when she was feeling amorous herself. You made yourself unavailable. She grew distant. You blamed Vriska.

And now this.

She’s waiting, expectant in front of you. Her fists are curled in your shirt, but the hold is tender. Her kiss was brazen, but comparatively chaste. You know this dance. You’ve read it in a hundred books and watched it in a thousand movies. You tried to write it once. But for all your vicarious experience you’ve never had a black romance yourself. Academically you were never opposed to the idea. You resolved your differences with quadrant based romance before you finished puberty.

You know, in a very tired sense of the word, that you’ve been unfair to Vriska for everything going wrong with your marriage, and to Kanaya for still finding her attractive. It’s not that Vriska doesn’t have good qualities, it’s just that they’re buried under that mess of egomaniacal exaggerations she calls a personality.

You thought this was what you wanted. A hyphenated last name. A home in the suburbs. A shared writing and sewing room. You thought you could play house but it’s become overly apparent that she’s an alien with romantic notions as foreign as the planet she came from and you’re hardly that monogamous yourself. And now there’s another alien. In your bed. Naked. Waiting on you to react to her kiss.

You react. 

* * *

 

You now realise you have much less control over the course of your life than you had previously estimated. Somewhere between making the unforgivable decision to cheat on your matesprit with an old flame and the present moment said matesprit has obviously taken complete leave of her senses. There is little other explanation as to why she would have her hands tangled in the hair and lips pressed up against the neck of one Vriska Serket, for whom she had previously expressed only the most platonic of dislike. You’d been so shamefully open to her about your feelings for Vriska and you’d been so certain that she felt nothing but mild disdain for the object of your affections. That was the reason you were able to go ahead with her suggestion that you call your flushmate by the name of your flushcrush when the two of you shared your human sleeping platform with the intent of using it for other than its primary intended purpose.

You don’t feel jealousy as you might expect, given the last time you tried to do something nice for Vriska only to watch her sate herself on another, and you’re quite glad for that emotional reprieve. You might be an apparently infidelitous lover but you would never wish to be labelled a hypocrite. The feelings welling up within you match none you can easily label. For all your prowess in romantic literature you’ve yet to experience something simultaneously so ashen and yet so very, very arousing. Your alien wife is making out with your crush. This never occurred to you as a possibility, for all your meddling expertise you never thought the solution to this divide in your life would fall into the quadrant it apparently has.

Rose is getting into the activity in earnest now. You watch a hand ghost down scarred grey flesh to squeeze tightly into Vriska’s behind. Rose lifts her head to bring her lips back to Vriska’s and you could swear you were looking at a pair of barkbeasts fighting over a scrap of meat from the way they snarl and bare their teeth between furtive kisses. Vriska’s claws pull at the fabric of Rose’s shirt, gentle enough not to pierce the material, though whether that’s a favour to Rose or yourself you’re not sure.

Rose breaks the kiss before Vriska, and you watch blue painted lips chase after the departing pair in black as the two separate. Suddenly they’re both looking at you and it is deeply discomforting. You like receiving attention from both of them independently but you decide now that both of them, together, at once, is perhaps more than your bloodpusher is able to take. Vriska leans down, putting great effort into showing how casual and effortless her descent into the pillows is. Rose kneels before you and extends a hand to your cheek.

“This is a thing that can happen, if you want it.” She says, eyes gentle and wavering. You’ve missed those eyes so much these last few months. You’ve missed her touch. You’ve missed other things about her that it appears she’s ready to offer once more. You still cannot help but be hesitant. You were so certain she would not have a problem with the roleplaying, it was after all, her suggestion. And now she’s suggesting something new. Something new and strange and different and potentially dangerous. Something that, for all its strangeness, feels intuitive, like you could hold the idea itself in your hand and may have been holding it for quite some time. You meet her eyes and try to discern how truly she wants this. There’s no doubt in the perfect white and violet orbs that stare back at you. You nod assent. She kisses you. 

* * *

 

Fucking _how_ is this your life?

You came over to the house of your good friend an hour ago. Fifteen minutes in you were making small-talk. Half an hour in you were in her bed, thinking you were about to get pailed by your crush. At forty-five minutes you were afraid for your life. Now you’re watching your red and black crushes make out pale across from you. Why the fuck do we even bother with quadrants if no one’s going to stay in their damn lane?

Rose reaches out at you faster than you’d give her credit for and grasps you firmly around the neck. She pulls you in closely and you would _never_ say something so cliche as ‘you were lost in her eyes’ so there must be another reason you’re pretty much paralysed right now.

"I want you to fuck my wife."

You try to convey eight surprise noodles in a look. This day just keeps getting weirder and you can’t really say it’s turning out bad for you but you wish this day had a face you could punch just to make it stop doing whatever the hell it keeps doing. Your pump biscuit is going to choke if the flips don’t stop sometime soon.

“Rose,” Kanaya interrupts before you can get your pan back out of the gutter “do you not think it would be better to talk this out more first before we all start shopping for pails in your earth-jumbo size? Are you certain you’re no longer jealous of my… feelings for Vriska?”

"Of course I'm jealous. I'm jealous as shit, Kanaya. But I think I'll be less jealous if I'm here while it's happening. If that's okay with the homewrecker, that is." She doesn't give you much room to reply, her lips pressed up against yours so tight, the hint of teeth just waiting for you to fuck this up. Very recently Rose was talking earnestly about shoving her needles point first into your ganderbulbs for wanting to pail her wife. That was fifteen minutes ago, this is now. You’re in their bed. You’re naked. She’s naked. The second she is now getting naked. Fucking everyone’s naked and you know _exactly_ what to do. 

* * *

 

You feel strangely light as you watch blue painted lips close around a dark jade nipple, mouthing over the sensitive nub with a gentleness you’d never have given Vriska credit for. The two of them take up the left half of the bed, Kanaya reclining back on that memory foam pillow she refuses to sleep without. You fight back against the pang in your stomach that says there’s an intruder in your sacred place, someone who doesn’t belong in all the memories you’ve put into this bed and this house and this marriage. Strangely enough Vriska herself eases away the stabbing feeling, in as crude a manner as you can expect from her, by roughly kneading your bare ass with her left hand while her right caresses the rumblesphere she’s not currently suckling at. Jealousy is the fear of losing something to another, you have to reassure yourself that this cobalt thief isn’t taking your light, she’s making her shine brighter for all three of you. The buttgrabs are quite reassuring as well.

You rest a hand on Kanaya’s thigh, you want her to know you’re here for her as well. You’d been so selfish in throwing your little tantrum rather than admit you were uncomfortable, you have to make sure she knows every second that this is a thing you want her to have. You want her to be happy, which isn’t to say you’re not enjoying this yourself. The growing sensation of squishy warmth between your legs confirms as much, and you arch into Vriska’s hand just enough for her fingertips to brush against your vulva. If she notices your shuddering she doesn’t let it interrupt her attentions to Kanaya, you witness the length of her almost-black tongue dangling out on her bottom lip, to run fine circles around the hardened point of Kanaya’s nipple. Both you and your wife let out an unintentionally synchronised moan at her ministrations and the three of you have to take a temporary time out to laugh. You consider calling jinx, though you’re not certain the asocial Alternians would have such an equivalent, instead you take the opportunity to scoot across the bed and get closer to your lovers. Wow, the plurality of that word came with surprising ease to your mind, and once thought you’re not quite certain how else you could think of the three of you. Lovers it will be then, until such time as another definition presents itself.

Speaking of presenting itself, your new angle gives you an excellent view of your wife’s jade bulge, emerging upwards from between her legs in search of the source of her pleasure. Her skirt serpent leans towards your hand, and you make play at snake charmer. Delicate touches lead it to coil and weave in the air, ever searching for elusive fingers to wrap around. Above your hand you can see the dark blue of Vriska’s own dripping bulge, eeling its way out from her sheathe cautiously. Biting back on your tentacle envy you guide Kanaya’s writhing green member upwards to make contact with Vriska’s own. You hope the symbolism isn’t lost on the two of them, but from the intensity with which they’re currently staring at each other you can hardly believe they can be aware of anything else but the feeling of their conjoined lengths squeezing against each other. You’re surprised that you don’t feel like a third wheel at this point, but Vriska’s grip on your rear hasn’t loosened, and from where you’re lying you can feel the heat radiating off Kanaya just like every night the two of you had bedded together. You dip your right hand, still coated in their respective juices, down between your legs and slick yourself with their green and blue. At this point you think you’ll be happy to just enjoy the show. 

* * *

 

The human saying about the impossibility of consuming a fluffy layered confection and owning it at the same time is clearly hoofbeast shit. You’ve got the warmth of your matesprit to your right and the cool intensity of your crush above you and no common wisdom about pastries is going to stop you from enjoying both in equal measure. Vriska’s bulge is encircling your own and the two of you are steadily getting into a rhythm of constricting each other back and forth while she continues to gorge herself the soft flesh of your thorax. You’ve long given up any hope of remaining silent or collected during this assault and instead have resigned yourself to such base moanings as “oh”, “yes”, “please” and “fuck me, Vriska”.

Rose appears to continue delighting in the loss of your composure, even when she is not the direct cause, her giggling would be distracting if it didn’t feel so familiar and safe. Besides, she may not be speaking her desire, but the noises coming from between her legs betray her own carnal needs. Vriska, for her part, is exactly as you’d imagined her, panting above you like a wild beast, slobbering over you with her long, dextrous tongue.

You feel the tip of her bulge lilting at the entrance of your nook, curiously exploring your lips with its slickened point. Your hips lift of their own accord to greet the sensation and your mind begins to do embarrassing flips at the thought of having a real live bulge inside of you. You love your wife, for better or worse as you had promised, but there’s a certain part of you that will always find the human anatomy lacking. That part would be your achingly empty nook. Fingers, toys, even the more creatively decorated ones, they just can’t fill you in the same way, they’ll never be as warm or tactile or _writhing_. You need it in you. You need it very desperately in a way you would never have believed before this moment. You do your best to articulate your wants to the smirking cobalt beauty above you but find you’ve lost something of your verbosity to arousal. Instead of a scathingly sarcastic segue into how she should put it in you right away what mostly escapes your lips is a series of moans and grunts. Rose giggles again to your right and you wish you had the freedom of movement to slap her for laughing at your predicament. Instead you hook a hand around the inside of her thighs and squeeze her tight just where you know it will affect her worst. You take as much satisfaction as possible in the sensuous way her gasp of surprise turns into a moan of need and it does not escape your notice how much deeper she manages to plunge her fingers into herself after the arrival of your touch.

Turning your attention back to Vriska, now hovering over you, having apparently had her fill of your sweat-stained flesh, you do your best seductive rainbow drinker glare. She laughs in your face and kisses you deep and you remember everything that makes you want her. Her arrogance hasn’t dulled with experience, it’s only been sharpened, she’s every bit the girl who won your six sweeps old affections and more. One of these days your fetish for brash overconfident light players is going to get you in trouble. Today it’s getting you pailed, so you don’t actually give a fuck about the future. She breaks the kiss and you manage to chirp out a single “please” before she locks lips with you again, the tongue that pleasured you so before now playing over the length of your fangs, dipping into your mouth to rub sensuously against your own. Something of your need must have been communicated however, as her hand leaves its post cupping your right rumblesphere to reach down between your legs. It’s something of an affair, separating the two of your bulges, but your thief manages to do it without breaking away from your ongoing makeouts. In fact you yourself are the one to break off this kiss, shrieking with pleasure as she lets herself into you. Rose’s hand tightens on your thigh as you set into a rhythm of purrs and clicks, Vriska working her way into you slowly. She gasps with every inch further she fits inside and you can’t remember a time in your life you’ve felt so well attended to. Rose takes to applying kisses and bites and licks to your neck, and doesn’t seem to have abandoned her attentions to herself, with her hand moving at a faster pace now. The two of you are surely relieving a lot of pent up sexual energy, the tantric pleasure of it almost makes the perigree of emotional constipation seem worth the trouble. That’s a lie, nothing is worth all that hurt and anxiety. If you had have talked your problems out properly you could have been having this threesome weeks ago. 

* * *

 

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.

You are _inside_ Kanaya Maryam. She’s lying beneath you, expression contorted in what must be the most pitiful smirk that can exist without the universe collapsing in around the singularity of beautiful smugness. She’s everything you thought she’d be, she feels like she was carved out to fit you, to hold you inside of her, tight around every one of the ridges lining the underside of your bulge. She pants like no one else you’ve ever been with, a purr that finishes in a chirp which gives way to a moan, a sharp breath in, then the whole cycle starts again. It provides an amazing auditory cue as to how close she is to pailing at any moment, the moans begin to tilt up in pitch at the end if you press in deep, the purrs rev up in volume if you roll yourself around inside of her, the chirps turn into squeaks if you lash. She seems so happy, so fucking satisfied, so much like a certain smug someone who may or may not be feeling up your glutes about now.

“Kanaya,” you raise your voice to get over her insistently sexy noises, “I want you to fuck your wife.” Both the troll you’re bulge deep inside of and her human wife seem pretty confused by that request.

“Um, Vriska, I was thinking that we might enjoy ourselves more,” Kanaya breaks away from her sentence to squeak incoherently for a second, “more fully before,” a moan rising from her chest interrupts her yet again “before we start changing partners.”

“What she means is she’s surprised you can stand the idea of not being the centre of attention for any period of time.” Looks like Lalonde is still ever the comedian, even with what looks like three fingers inside herself to the second knuckle.

“Well firstly, fuck you. Secondly, let me clarify: Kanaya, I want you to fuck your wife while I fuck you from behind. Does that appease your majesties?” Rose lets out a whine of wanting and that’s all the answer you need. You move to extract yourself from Kanaya’s nook only to find a claw hooking itself into your back.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Vriska, you’re staying inside me and that’s final. I’ll move us.” You’re pretty damn confused until you watch Kanaya lift one of her legs until the fucking thing is parallel to the bed and sweeping in between you. She rolls over, squeezing your bulge inside of her as she goes, until she can straighten back out with you at her back and Lalonde at her front.

“Kanaya, when the hell did you become a goddamn gymnast?” As far as you’d known Karkat and Sollux were the only ones in your friend circle who ever took to the ballet component of school feeding, though Sollux was only ever in it for the pas de deux bits. Other than those two you’re not sure any of your friends had the flexibility to touch their damn toes let alone pull off acrobatics like that in the bedroom.

“If you studied as much Earth culture as you pretend to, Vriska, you’d know that bored housewives do a lot of yoga.” You can’t see the surely smug contortion of her eyebrows from behind her but you can see the downright devilish look Lalonde gives you, as if to say _you’re damn right she’s sexy_. 

* * *

 

This is pretty perfect. You get to see your kismesis and your wife fucking in full view and within a few seconds you’ve got your wife’s bulge snaking its way into you as well. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to enjoy your marital rights, the phrase here referring exclusively to the jade coloured love tentacle your wife keeps between her legs hidden behind a bone plating you’ve likened, much to her chagrin, to an inbuilt chastity belt. Well the belt’s all unlocked now and you’ve given your neighbour a spare set of keys so you’re not getting locked out again and okay this metaphor is getting away from you. It just feels so _good_ to have her back inside you, snug and safe like she never left.

Vriska is cuddled up close behind her, expression contorting in delightfully interesting ways as Kanaya works her bulge down below. You’re not certain exactly what your kismesissitude will entail just yet but at the very least you now have plenty of material if you need to mockingly replicate her sex faces in the future. Her hand is still roughly massaging your rear, which you’re not ungrateful for, you reach around the pair and bring your nails to her back. You’ve read exactly the right amount of Alternian smut to know that raking your nails down the grey of her skin while she’s having her bulge squeezed should create exactly the kind of pleasure-pain feedback loop trolls love the best. Your predictions turn out to be a gross underestimation. Her howl of pleasure/pain will surely be heard in every house on the block.

Kanaya lets out a squeak between the two of you, enough to let you know Vriska must be going wild inside of her. Kanaya’s own bulge is undulating deep within you with a fervor you don’t think you’ve felt from her in years. You wonder how many fantasies this is fulfilling for her, how long she’s wanted Vriska, how much she’s wanted a solution where she could have both of you. You hope this is making her happy. You want every one of her dreams to come true. And if a few of those dreams happen to involve filling you with multiple alien tentacle dicks then hey, you’re going to do everything in your power to make that happen. 

* * *

 

You can hardly think over how good this feels, how right this feels. There’s nothing to get in the way, no nagging emotions telling you that this is not a thing you deserve, only pleasure, pure unadulterated pleasure. Vriska’s bulge won’t stop caressing you from the inside, working its way through every fold, exploring every last available inch of your nook. Your own bulge fits inside your wife as well as it ever has, you feel at home within her, accepted and warm and happy and exactly where you belong. Their hands are all over you, stroking your every vulnerability, opening you up to new worlds of sensual excitement. It oustrips any fantasy you could have possibly had by far. Rose is a very talented author but you doubt even she could put into words exactly what you’re feeling, how full and loved you are right now.

You feel your orgasm building up like a sneeze, waiting to happen but infuriatingly beyond your control. You let yourself get lost in the details for a minute, the sheen of Rose’s hair, the cool touch of Vriska’s skin on your buttocks, the softness of the mattress beneath you. You’re ready for them, you want to fill your wife and be filled by your whatever-the-hell-Vriska-is-you-are-too-horny-to-come-up-with-new-romantic-terminology-right-now-thank-you-very-much. You think Vriska might be as close as you are, her nails are threatening to pierce right through you skin with every increasingly frantic stroke. Rose is definitely almost at her limit from the way she’s begun bucking her hips into you. She’s expressed frustration that your bulge isn’t particularly rigid so her mammalian instincts are completely useless. You maybe giggle a little at her predicament, though she might be unkind enough to liken it to a chortle, and bring a hand down between the two of you to rub at her needy little bulge-equivalent. You’ve been married far too long to insist on using the wrong words for her anatomy, but you’re going to continue to do so for as long as she refers to your bulge as a “pocket octopus”, “skirt serpent” or “love tentacle”.

It begins without warning, Vriska’s bulge is slender enough that you didn’t notice it swelling before cerulean slurry starts gushing into you from beneath. She lets out a defeated gasp and buries her face in your shoulder as her release continues, flowing into you like the sun’s rays after a long night. You feel yourself take her, long dormant biological functions stirring to waking as your body drinks her in, swallows all she has to give. It’s such a wondrously arousing sensation you hardly notice that you’ve begun releasing your own slurry into Rose, the only signal that you’re already hitting your orgasm was the shuddering sigh she gave as your genetic material swept in to her and set her off into her own.

The three of you lie there for a time, at first just riding out your respective releases, but afterwards it seems none of you can begin the process of extrication, not while there are so many cuddles to be had after all. You close your eyes and breathe them in. You’re probably going to have to have a very long talk with Rose about your communication breakdown and how she would like to proceed with Vriska, and you’ll need to have a long talk with Vriska as well to apologise for dragging her into your relationship drama. But hopefully, at the end of the all the teary eyed apologies and promises to communicate more effectively in the future, you’ll be able to say that today was fun, and ask that we try it again. Without the perigree of emotional constipation this time.


	2. Chapter 2

You have no idea how you convinced Vriska to stay for dinner and from the way she squirms on the other end of the couch she has even less of an idea what she’s still doing here. Assorted takeout containers litter the coffee table because you are the holy trinity of sex gods and cooking is for mortals. A Nic Cage movie plays somewhat unattended on the television but every so often someone pipes up to remark on how truly bad the dialogue in this one is. Kanaya sits in the middle, by wordless agreement, and it seems everyone’s a little too new to this to really get cozy. You settle your head on her shoulder and pull the blanket just a little further up to your waist, trying not to remember that Vriska Serket is underneath the same blanket. Vriska Serket. Your kismesis, apparently, though if you were given to Vantasian circlejerks of arguing with one’s former and future selves you would certainly have to endure a sincere amount of incredulity when advising your past self of the revelations to come, and you would have to endure the sad condescension of your future self should you express how cautiously optimistic this all feels. You’re not sure if you have kismesitude in you, some hate-kissing foreplay is one thing but a sustained relationship might simply be beyond you by virtue of not growing up knowing what such a relationship is supposed to look like.

None of you really have much to say. You don’t have the conversation you should be having, finding it easier to drop back into the mundane, pretend you’re just three friends hanging out and watching movies on a meteor hurtling through the opposite of reality towards an uncertain future. You don’t break the silence that’s made up of words that mean nothing, but as your internal verbosity hits a certain peak you realise you should get writing and make the most of this angst while it lasts. You’re hoping it won’t.

“Kanaya dear, I’ll be in the study, seems as good a time as any to get a start on that short story anthology.” She doesn’t really break eye contact with the television, studied indifference a certain sign she’s not in the best emotional place at the moment either. You make a decision that you hope you won’t regret and grab Vriska by the chin, wresting her vision from Nic Cage’s rugged yet lovable face and making her focus on you.

“I have a nasty habit of working all night that Kanaya just hates. It would be a shaaaaaaaame if she had no one to cuddle with tonight.” If you know Vriska, and you’d like to think you’ve come the closest out of anyone to putting the puzzle that is her brain together, that was the exact way to phrase your request such that she could easily opt out under the pretense of pissing you off, hence the oh-so-subtle mockery of her typing quirk, but give her excuse enough to stay if she actually wanted to. Those two really need some time together anyhow. Getting meaningful consent out of an egomaniac like her is going to be a challenge.

If she understands the intention behind your uncharacteristically unconvoluted request she doesn’t show it, simply throws her hands up and tries to blow you off with an “okay, jegus you don’t have to twist my arm about it.”

You keep her eye contact a second longer, trying to find some sign in that seven pupiled sight melon of hers that she actually wants to be here. You’re probably never really going to get her, her motivations, her desires, her needs. But you want to. So you’re going to learn how to ask. 

* * *

 

Waking up without Rose in the bed is hardly a unique experience for one as well travelled down the paths of Lalondian sleeping habits as yourself, waking up to find a different beautiful woman hogging your doona is another sensation altogether. It’s not a feeling of panic, not even truly surprise, simply a small declaration in your thinkpan, an error message that simply states “Oh! This is still a thing that is true”. The most unusual part of the sensation is how cool she is. She’s only a few shades above yourself on the hemospectrum, but the divide between greens and blues is a line marked in celsius and you can feel the difference in your blood through the minute contact her skin gives you. Having had a hot-blooded human of a matesprit to share your resting place with for so long it seems has acclimatised you to the warmth. It’s not bad, strictly speaking, just new.

You relinquish any right you may have ever had to your fine quilt and let her cocoon herself in its fluffy goodness. You hope she molts in there into an adult capable of sharing the sheeting but you’re not going to hold your breath. It does not bode well for your future sanity that you have managed to fall in love not with one but two blanket stealing scoundrels. Perhaps you can put them at either end of the bed and simply curl up around the victor of their inevitable bedding war. For the time being you simply abandon your bed to its slumbering conqueror and head to check on Rose.

Your study is more or less as you remember it, completely unshaken by the developments of your marriage. The neat piles of your assorted fabrics, the chaos of projects half-finished or soon to be abandoned, your sewing machine, and assorted equipment all line one wall-length desk. The opposite wall is covered in esoteric charts of character interactions and backstories, mapped out like freudian conspiracy theories, as well as some artworks for inspiration or blown up photographs Rose had either taken herself or received from one of her many contributors. The desk itself is littered with piles of unread manuscripts, coffee mugs in varying states of fullness (none entirely empty, for aesthetic) and plenty of pens, paper and pencils for all that she ever uses them for anything other than frustrated scribbling. Her laptop would normally take centre place in the table, instead it is now pushed up against the wall to make room for the real centrepiece, the sleeping form of your darling wife.

This is hardly the first time you’ve found her passed out at her desk, too tired to keep going and too pigheaded to let herself stop. You half-believe the habit of falling asleep wherever her body gives out rather than coming to bed like a sane person is out of nostalgia for her short-lived drinking days. You admit to yourself that it was pleasant to have the sound of someone breathing in the room while you drifted off to sleep, even if it wasn’t your wife. You’re not sure if you would admit this to anyone else. Fortunately, Rose’s eccentricities are your routine now, and there are a number of handmade quilts stacked under your table for just such an emergency as a sleepy matesprit resting uncovered. You drape her with her favourite of your creations, a patchwork in the Land of Light and Rain’s colour scheme, decorated with adorable pink turtles. You hope she accepts the message that you know she is smart enough to read in the gesture. 

* * *

 

Nobody would blame you, right? I mean, you’re here. Things have already happened. Things. You spent the night, for some reason, and now you’re still here. In their bed. Where you fucked. You in the extreme plural. This is a thing. You are not freaking out, jeez, it’s not anything to be freaked out about, it’s just a thing, a thing that happened, not like a weird thing or anything, just a thing, totally fine, nothing strange, nothing unusual, just a thing.

Fuck fuck fuck you should jump out the window. You should, like, trash the bedroom so they think this whole thing was just a shitty practical joke and everyone can have a big laugh, haha, classic Vriska. Maybe if you barricade the door with the mattress you can stay in here for a while and think of what to do next. What is wrong with your life that everything has to be so hard all the time?

You’re sizing up the window for the ideal impact velocity when you hear a door click from out in the hallway. It instantly makes the sound of breaking glass or a rattling window frame seem unattractively loud. Looks like you’re stuck then, you’ll just have to be an adult about things, apologise for what you did in a way that makes it pretty obvious that it was all their fault and then you can leave and if they try to kill you, or worse, never talk to you again, then you’ll just deal with that when it happens.

You throw your clothes back on, check you’ve got everything in your pockets, then open the door to the bedroom an inch at a time. Just a leisurely pace, you’re not worried about making too much sound or anything. Yesiree, taking your time letting that handle rotate smooth and gentle like the well oiled machine it is. Okay you’re not actually turning the handle at all. The door is still closed. You’re not moving. Hey remember the time you saved the entire multiverse and literally everyone who ever existed or will exist owes it to you? Yeah? You’re awesome, you can do this. Just a door. You can open it. Hero of all reality. Vriska Serket. Opening a door.

There’s no one in the hallway, which makes you feel infinitely smoother than you felt a second ago. You absolutely do not tiptoe down the corridor, your regular saunter is just a little quiet today is all. No one bursts out of the study to try and murder you so that’s pretty good. You pick up the pace a little to try and put some distance between you and the no doubt sorely pummeled keyboard of Rose Lalonde. You’ve seen how thick her novels get, that poor laptop must know how to take a beating. You’ve arrived in their backyard before you realise you’d lost yourself thinking about Rose’s fingers.

Kanaya is standing out in the centre of the grass, her back towards you, wearing a dark jade robe and facing the risen sun. You notice the glow of her skin seeping out until the grey is washed away completely to a luminous white that rivals the stars themselves in intensity. Then her robe slides off her shoulders and on to the grass below, revealing that the glow extends to her full body, and that she was not wearing anything beneath. The high hedges boxing the back yard in give privacy, a sense of seclusion in the suburban jungle that you can now more fully appreciate. Kanaya’s foot nudges her discarded robe off to the side and then lifts in a slow straight arc. When she reaches a right angle with her other leg her knee bends and she swings her hips across to rotate the joint in a circle before her foot touches the ground, then the process repeats from the other side.

You forget time ever had a meaning as you watch Kanaya silently move through her poses, her ritual of greeting the morning perhaps. You’ve never seen her so exposed or so powerful. You can see every muscles flex and every joint rotate. You know that every hold contains strength, every free flowing movement holds tension. She moves like a dancer, like a woman who could turn a battlefield into a ballet. You want to see more, you want to watch this forever. You don’t make a word and hope very much that she doesn’t notice you standing on her veranda.

She sees you, of course, when her seemingly impossible spine curvature brings her around sufficiently that she can make eye contact with you from where she stands. You couldn’t say for sure but you’d swear she glowed brighter for just a second, before a mischievous smile spreads across her face (you think it’s a smile but it’s somewhat upside down at the moment) and she rotates out of the pose. She doesn’t break her routine for you, but you feel there’s something a little more risque to all the poses that come thereafter. Honestly you’re not sure you’d get a more intimate look at her privates eating out her nook than she gives you with a casual flick of her leg into a pointed hold.

Eventually the bulge-teasing display of arcane physical beauty is complete and she bends down to collect her robe, not yet deigning to dress. You silently watch her stalk over the grass to you, thinking of how powerful those thighs must be, how you would love to have your head squeezed between them while you lapped at her eager wetness and oh hey kisses. Kisses are neat.

“Good morning, Vriska. I trust you enjoyed the show?” Her eyebrows do that wiggle that means she’s keeping a mental score of how flustered you are. It would take the life’s work of several expert linguists to try and decipher your defensive sputtering in response to her oh-so innocent rhetorical question. It only makes her smile deepen and she gives you another kiss on the cheek as some form of smug territory marking. “Rose and I need to talk, would you care to meet us in the nutrition block for breakfast?” Your brain stalls while you try to think of non-committal responses as to why you may or may not be present in the nutrition block but it’s not because she suggested it or because you intend to eat breakfast but she preemptively silences you with a kiss. “I’ll see you there. By the way, your shirt is inside out.” 

* * *

 

You wake up at your desk, wrapped up in your least favourite quilt. You’ve no idea what possessed Kanaya to make this wretched thing, perhaps simply tagging your last name onto hers was sufficient to transmit the Lalonde genes for passive aggression. She has to know how much you hate the bright cheery colours and the hideous little turtle creatures, why else would you have gone so out of your way to compliment her on it? Surely waking up with this monstrosity over you is as clear a signal that she’s not happy with you as you’re going to get.

You pick up the appearifier Roxy was kind enough to provide for your office and aim it squarely at the corner of your desk. A zap of impossibility later and there’s a steaming hot take away cup of coffee waiting for you, fresh from a cafe in Milan where the baristas know what they’re doing and know not to ask questions. You’d find some mysterious way to apologise but you’re not well versed enough in the technology to locate the place or time based on the preset input Roxy provided you with. As far as you can tell somewhere out in paradox space one barista has the worst morning in history and you are provided with a limitless supply of perfect lattes. You transfer the steaming liquid from the take-away cup to an empty mug, conveniently retrieved the night before, and return to work on your latest pile of award-winning garbage.

You get about half a sentence in before Kanaya’s arrival. You’re reminded again how excellent your taste in women is that the one you married is able to make a dressing gown look elegant and refined. It doesn’t hurt that she also literally sparkles around the shimmering emerald silk. She eyes the quilt still around your shoulders with a smirk and you tug it closer around you.

“How is the story coming along?” She enters the room and closes the door behind her. The fabric of her robe washes over her hips and flows down to the carpeted floor, pooling in the soft light emanating from her ankles. In short you’ve been writing too much romance and it’s starting to get into your brain.

“Slowly.” You reply with as much honesty as you can. Making these characters sort out the problems you piled on top of them is like writing through molasses. “It’s an unfamiliar genre and I want to give it a happy ending.” You try to be as matter of fact as possible to avoid the inevitable—

“A happy ending in a Rose Lalonde story? The fans will be aghast. You’ll be fielding refunds for the next sweep.” Yes, that inevitable smirk of infinite smugness from your number one fan. She might not be much of a proofreader given her personal disregard for punctuation, but you’ve always appreciated her honest input. Or at least, you’ve appreciated her honest input since you finally worked up the courage to actually let her read any of your works. “I personally believe it will be a hit, after the initial outcry.” Still with the smirking.

You lift yourself out of your work chair and move over to the much comfier armchair by the window, trailing your turtle-covered shroud along with you. Once you’ve settled yourself you gesture silently at your lap, as if to imply shock that Kanaya is standing over here when you’re so cold and in need of cuddles. Kanaya makes sure you can see her eyes are good and rolled before lifting off the door frame and coming to greet you in person. After a long night of working, and still waiting on the coffee to kick in, the weight of her on you, against you, is enough to work some of the tension out of your shoulders. One of these years you’re going to learn to stop hunching, but then again, being secretly immortal means you’ve got plenty of time to fix your posture.

“So,” Kanaya begins.

“So.” You agree.

“So it would seem—”

“It would indeed seem so, dear Kanaya.”

“Rose this is about the hardest conversation we’ve had since you first explained to me that you did not have a bulge, please don’t make yourself a nuisance just now.”

“Fair enough, consider my ample wit stowed for the time being.”

“I much appreciate you safely stowing your nigh-lethal wit for the purposes of this conversation. I don’t believe either of us would survive the crossfire if this turned into yet another contest of snark and musclebeast leavings.” She lets out a sigh to indicate that she’s quite done with her own habit of humorously deflecting uncomfortable conversation topics. “How did you not see this coming?”

“I don’t think it’s particularly fair to put the entire burden of our relationship’s stagnation on me, Kanaya, as much as I would like to be able to blame myself for every bad thing that occurs within this household I distinctly remember the first of us to express attraction to—”

“Rose, stop. You know what I mean. How did you not See this coming.”

Now it is your turn to sigh in defeat. “The Seer of Light powerset is truly one of the most infuriating I can possibly imagine. I can’t simply look into the consequences of my actions like Terezi, all I have are vague inclinations of whether the current course will be favourable in the long term—”

“Rose, you have been a god the entire time we have been dating, I am well aware of how your abilities work.”

Another sigh on your part. You half imagine there is some point scoring going on here but the winning criteria seems to be ‘who is more sorry about how badly they fucked up talking to their wife’. “As you understand how I see the potential future, perhaps you may also understand why I didn’t act. The outcome seemed favourable for my actions, regardless of how unpleasant they were at the time. All I had to go on was the knowledge that I was on the correct path, not where it was leading. For a time,” you have to take a moment to compose yourself. “For a time I believed that the path we were on would lead to our separation. I hid my concerns because admitting as much to you might be sufficient for you to decide to leave me. It was only after Vriska ki— after Vriska and I made our amends that I realised the path we were heading towards, and that the outcome was the most favourable one available. It sucked all the way getting there of course, and it’s still going to be a lot of hard work but as far as I can See, we’re on the right track now.”

“So am I to understand that you are without fault in this?” Your fans always comment on how realistic you make the vampires in your novels seem. You wonder how they can judge the realism if they’ve never seen a pissed off rainbow drinker glow with subdued fury. “You followed the sparkling trail of shit and dragged me down it blindfolded, Rose. Did you not stop to think how I would feel about that? Did you not think to ask?”

“Kanaya, you know I didn’t do this to hurt you. I only—” but you did hurt her. You don’t need precognitive abilities to know that’s the next step in this argument. You acted in what you thought were her best interests and you didn’t think to ask if she was okay with this. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry that I didn’t tell you I was going through this. We could have worked it out together. We should have.”

“I missed you so much, Rose. I missed you every day you chose not to be part of our marriage. I missed you across breakfast tables and under bedsheets and I missed seeing you when I looked in your eyes.” She looks an awful lot like she’s missing you now. You press your forehead to her cheek and hold back on the temptation to reach out and hold her face until she calms down. She’s expressed before she doesn’t like you taking advantage of the pale aspects of your relationship to avoid arguments.

“Are you going to break up with me?”

She pulls away from you to get a better look at your face. Her expression is torn between frustration, fear and concern. “Of course not, Rose,” You’re not sure she’s ever looked so frightfully sure of herself before “I love you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop loving you. I’m not sure there’s a single timeline out there in paradox space where a Kanaya didn’t love a Rose. I am not breaking up with you.”

You meet her kiss and let her bear down on you with all she’s got.

“This never happens again, Rose. I want you to talk to me always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one lacked for sex, needed to clear some active projects. I do anticipate there being a third chapter.


End file.
